


Echoes Beneath (Demons and Angels meet)

by Orlha



Series: Abandoned/Works on hiatus [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lots of drama, Memory Loss, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Team Dynamics, warship of emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 05:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orlha/pseuds/Orlha
Summary: In the aftermath of the Chitauri attack, Skye wakes up with no memory of her past or present. With only a driver license as her clue, she searches for anyone who once knew her.Bucky claws through his Winter Soldier programming to escape Hydra, and a deep loathing to the person whose first words are on his skin. He only knows that nowhere is safe, not even with his soulmate - especially not his soulmate.Completely canon divergent.





	Echoes Beneath (Demons and Angels meet)

**Author's Note:**

> **A word of warning:** Hello people. This work is a warship of emotions, a giant fleet of it. The tags on this fic are correct. So please heed it and ready your box of tissue.

Skye knelt there, thick flakes of snow drifting down over them. “James- Please,” she said to the man standing so still in front of her. She was so tired of fighting the losing battle. She was gaining strength of every step Skye made. Who was she? Was she Skye or was she Eleven? The throbbing at the back of her head snarled at her. How had they turned to this? Skye swallowed, her lip shaking from the effort of pushing back the throbbing. “James,” she repeated, catching sight of her white wisp breath escaping into the air.

 

Cold.

 

She should be cold and trembling, but she wasn’t cold. The serum in her kept her warm, just like James. Just like James. In the end, she was just like him. Fighting the cynical thoughts, Skye tore another word from her lips, _“please.”_

 

Her plead broke his blank mask. “Don’t make me do this, Skye.” James cupped her face, a tear sliding across his face. “I love you.”

 

She pressed her lips against his, tasting the coppery taste of blood mingling with the salt from their tears. His lips mouthing against hers slowly. “I love you too,” she whispered against his mouth. Drawing herself from him, she stumbled several backwards, his pistol in her hands.

 

“Skye-”

 

“It’s you or me, James,” the curl of her lips mocked him. She motioned between both of them with the gun, finger curling around a tendril of loose hair. The wall between her two selves cracking, each second they spent talking was lost to her. Skye knew exactly what she would do. She wasn’t going to put James through it all over again. Her eyes blanked out for a moment, a glint streaking through her brown eyes as she crinkled them at him. “I choose me,” Skye said raising the gun at him.

 

James leapt at her, the gun going off into his metal arm. They rolled down the hill, Skye raised her fist, beating into the side of his fist. James banded his arm around her, trapping her one arm against his chest.

 

“Stop it Skye!” He winced as one of her punches broke his nose. Finally rolling to a stop, James leant over her, pressing her to the ground, hand arresting her arm. “Stop it, Skye.”

 

“She’s gone.” Skye smiled at him. “It’s just you and me, honey.” She moved up to kiss him but James pulled his face away.

 

“No! Skye!”

 

“Tsk tsk tsk, my name is одиннадцать or 十一 not Skye.” Her hair spread out in a dark halo across the white snow. His heart ached for the woman he had once kissed in this exact position not a few hours ago. If he could back in time to change it all, he would have done it in a heartbeat.  The woman he fell for was hidden by a dark shroud.

 

“Eleven.” The name fell thickly off his tongue.

 

“So it seems that we have finally met, soul mate.”

 

“And you are mine,” James was unable to stop himself from returning the words despite how he begged himself not to. She stared at him triumph.

 

“Release me.”

 

His body shuddered, hand jerking as James struggled to disobey her words. He knew he couldn't but it didn't stop him from trying.

 

“Skye!” He roared, trying to pull the woman he loved from beneath the mask as his body forced himself off her.

 

Skye lay there panting. Her eyes flickered, doubt swum in her eyes. She lunged for the forgotten gun.

 

BANG.

 

\----

  
She woke up to a darkening sky, legs bent beneath a sharp edge of concrete slab. Questions flitted across her mind yet she was aware that she only had more questions and no answers.

 

“Miss? Are you okay?” A man knelt beside her, his rough fingers clinically running across her skin to ascertain the severity of her injuries. “My name is Matthew, we’ll get you out in a bit.”

 

She flinched as he ran his fingers over her temples. The pain that she hadn’t noticed all this while roared into life, beating angrily at the back of her head. “Are you okay?” he asked again. This time, his fingers slowly ran over where he had seen her flinch. She jerked with a gasp and a groan.

 

“Looks like the possibility of a concussion,” he told the other man who had been inspecting the concrete slab that she lay on.

 

She stared blankly at him wondering what had happened and how she had gone there.

 

“Do you have anyone to call?”

 

The firefighters placed a thingy between the slab holding her down and the one beneath her. Matthew snapped his fingers in front of her face, drawing her attention back to him. “Miss, you'll be fine. We'll get you out. Do you have a name?”

 

She struggled to piece her thoughts, finding herself draw blank. Who was she? Where was she? What happened? There were no answers in her mind, no memories of anything. Only the hollowness in her.

 

She blinked slowly. She must have lost track of time for she was now in a temporary white tent. Beds lined left, right and in front of her with people of varying injuries laying in them. Across her lay a man with his bandages seeping blood. A woman sat beside him, her hand gripping his so tightly that her knuckles were white.

 

Who was she?

 

She still didn’t have a name to herself and no one had come for her. Tiredly, she pushed up on her elbows, her head spinning as she sat up. A harassed medic made his way to her. He pulled her wrist up, checking the tag on her wrist.

 

“A concussion and a leg injury.” He moved down to check the bandages on her calves and clicked his tongue. “Clearly whoever who wrote this was a novice. This wound barely requires a bandage,” he said and scribbled on the tag. “Okay, you are free to go. You’ll need to check in on a hospital about your concussion. Get a relative or a friend to wake you every few hours for the next twenty four hours.”

 

Not waiting for a reply, he moved on to the next bed where the man and woman were. She sat there slowly blinking before crawling to her feet. Outside the tent, the world was in chaos. Helicopters circled the air, tall cranes loomed in the sky. Sirens and sounds of weeping and yelling filled her ears. Whatever that had happened had taken the city to its knees. Even the Stark Tower had not been spared, leaving a half ruined helicopter platform and a lonely A on the sides of the building.

 

She took a breath, trying to reorient herself. Perhaps she had some form of identification? She patted herself down, digging through her jeans pocket. The only thing she had was a set of car keys. If she could find the car, there would probably be something inside to identify her.

 

She forced herself to pick a direction, pressing the car finder button on her keys even few seconds. She didn’t know any landmarks or even how her car looked. This city that she awoke to didn’t even have a name in her mind.

 

She didn’t know how long she searched but she knew she must have looked terrible when a woman asked her if she needed help.

 

“My car,” she said. “I’m looking for my car.”

 

The woman looked at her flatly and pointed at the rubble-filled road. “Miss, I don’t think you’ll be able to drive home even if you found your car.”

 

She laughed, a flat, humourless sound. “Drive home. No that’s not- My car-” She gripped the woman’s sleeve. “What is my name? Who am I?” She grabbed at the words, but she was unable to find any other words.

 

“And your car will have your ID?” The woman said slowly, though less of a question and more of a statement. Turning to the two boys hanging by the stairs, the woman waved them over. “Fred, Peter, come help this woman find her car.”

 

The two teenagers joined them though not without grumbling, flanking each side of the street as they made their way down the street searching for her car.

 

Two hours later, they found the van in an alley and the driver license in the van said Mary Sue Poots.  

 


End file.
